Authors: Paul Adan
“How are you doing, Edward?”
“Not too good. I’m
goin’ crazy in here,” Edward replied.
Sean immediately noticed Edward’s haggard and tired appearance. His eyes were puffy, and his hair was greasy and matted. Although he didn’t have much facial hair, mostly on account of his age, it was nonetheless obvious that he hadn’t
shaved in a quite some time. His overall demeanor was that of brokenness and surrender. Sean could not help but feel compassion for Edward.
“You mentioned in your Kite that your antidepressant isn’t working very well.”
“Yes.”
There was a pause as Sean waited for Edward to say more. After waiting for 5 or 10 seconds, during which time Edward remained silent, Sean continued the interview.
“The problem, Edward, is that antidepressants take some time to produce results. You’ve only been taking yours for a little more than a day. Maybe we could start you on something else, in addition to what you’re already taking, to help you feel better. Does that sound like something you’d be willing to do?” Sean didn’t mention that those “other meds” were antipsychotic meds. He thought it would be a good idea to tell him at another time.
“Yes.”
“Alright, I’ll see that a prescription is written this afternoon. Hopefully, by tomorrow, you can start taking the new med.” Sean hesitated for a few seconds as he considered Edward’s circumstances.
“Edward, have you contacted your family since you’ve been in here?”
“No.”
“Have you received any letters?”
“No.”
“What about the Chaplain? Have you spoken with him?”
“No.” Edward had forgotten that he had, in fact, spoken to the Chaplain.
“Where are you from, Edward?”
“Turnbuckle.”
“Are your parents living in Turnbuckle?”
“No.”
The interview progressed for another ten minutes. During this time, Sean asked numerous other questions in order to assess the status of Edward’s emotional and mental well-being. Edward’s answers were always short and to the point; he
never really elaborated on anything. Sean was frustrated. He wanted to build an emotional bridge between them, but he didn’t know how.
Unable to make any headway, Sean terminated the interview. After offering a few assurances and saying goodbye, he left the cell. As he did, he was gripped with an overwhelming sense of foreboding.
“SLAM!”
The jarring sound of the door, behind him, caused Sean’s innards to jump. He’d been working in the jail for several years now, and he was still rattled by the doors. He wondered if he’d ever get used to the jail.
Stuart County
January 1967
– September 1995
JASON LEWIS was born into a good family with supportive and loving parents. His father was a civil engineer who’d been responsible for many large road construction projects throughout Stuart County; his mother was a part-time bank teller and a full-time mom. During his early childhood years, his parents were happily married and always ready to show kindness to each other, and to the children. Seldom did they argue with one another, and when they did argue, they “made-up” fairly quickly. They never had “money- problems” – and over the years they were able to take the family on numerous vacations and cruises. They were also good disciplinarians, and were more than willing to intervene when one of their children misbehaved. Although they didn’t go to church all that often, they still managed to make it there on special occasions.
In spite of this positive upbringing, Jason began to get into trouble when he was in
junior high. During those years, his parents were having marital problems, and he was pretty much left to fend for himself. Frequently, he’d go out with his friends after school, and wouldn’t return home until late at night. His parents would sometimes confront him about his juvenile behavior, but they never really disciplined him. Whenever he’d do something wrong, it was as if it had never happened.
Most of the things he did were innocent enough – that is, they were things that many kids do at one time or another. One time, for example, he and some friends had used some gasoline to start a small fire in a pile of wood. Even though there wasn’t any danger to nearby buildings, the boys had not considered the possibility that the surrounding dry grass might catch fire. When someone in the neighborhood called the fire department to report the billowing smoke, the delinquents
scattered from the scene. On another occasion, he and a friend had used their BB guns to shoot some holes in the windows of a local church. That night, after returning home, he was thrilled to see that his vandalism had made it into the 10 O’clock news.
At about this same time, Jason developed a bad habit. He had always thought that it might be neat to try smoking cigarettes, but he never knew how to go about getting his hands on them. Then one day, on the way home from school, he found a half-smoked cigarette lying in the road. Thinking he was clever and tough, he’d taken the cigarette home with him. Later that same night, in his “secret” hide-out behind his house, he lit-up for the first time. Over the coming months, he joined the ranks of other smokers at school who frequented the bathroom in order to surreptitiously “puff-away.”
Because of his new habit, he learned a lot about the art of deception. Even though he knew his parents were not very attentive to him anymore, he still worried that they might have a strong negative reaction to his smoking. As a result, he did all he could to hide the smell of cigarettes on his breath and clothing. Besides using breath mints and other mouth washes, he also developed nifty tricks to keep his clothing from smelling. When he was ultimately found out by his parents, his first reaction was denial. After a while, though, he just didn’t care.
Not too long after he’d entered
High school, Jason made a fateful decision: While at a party, he had allowed himself to be injected with some heroin. The euphoria he experienced was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before – and he was immediately hooked. From that time onward, his life became irreparably messed up.
The changes in his life were dramatic, and completely incapable of being hidden behind breath mints, eye-drops, or long-sleeved shirts. The first thing to suffer was his grades. Although his interest in school had already diminished significantly due to family turmoil, it was nothing compared to the lack of motivation that came with his heroin addiction. Right away, he began skipping school at an unprecedented
rate. Even when he did show up for class, he no longer possessed the ability to concentrate on numbers and letters. Now, the only thing he could think about was his next high.
For a period of months, he and his parents made a valiant attempt to rein-in his addiction. Together, they talked with counselors and mental health professionals. They also spent a considerable amount of time researching heroin addiction, and the various support groups available to help. Unfortunately, nothing seemed to work. His grades continued to deteriorate, and eventually he gave up going to school altogether. Shortly thereafter, he moved out of his parent’s house and in with a buddy – also a heroin addict. His name: Joey Jones.
In order to support his habit, Jason needed a source of income. When he had just been addicted to cigarettes, while living with his parents, he managed to fund his addiction through his weekly allowance. Now, he had two addictions – and his parents were no longer supporting him.
Jason’s life descended into crime.
Stuart Co. General Hospital
5 August –
3 September
STILL IN the hospital, Joey Jones had cheated death. Doctors were able to “restart” his kidneys with an IV Lasix drip and, for a while, his condition had improved. There was even talk among Joey’s few friends about how they’d celebrate his going home. But then, things had taken a turn for the worse.
The first person to notice a problem was the Licensed Practical Nurse, or LPN, who performed the daily dressing changes on Joey’s two stab wounds. One of the wounds, she noticed, did not appear to be healing properly. It was the gut wound – the one located in the lower left quadrant of Joey’s abdomen. From what she could see, there was some sort of purulent drainage seeping out, and the edges were dehiscing. She notified a Registered Nurse, or RN, about her findings.
Several hours later, while making his rounds, Dr. Franklin examined the wound. He was concerned, but not particularly worried. After all, post operative infections occur quite frequently, and are easily treated with antibiotics. To cover all the bases, however, he wrote orders to have a Complete Blood Count, or CBC, performed on Joey’s blood. He was interested in seeing if there was a spike in Joey’s white cell count; a clear indicator of infection. In addition to the lab, Dr. Franklin also ordered a wound culture be performed so as to identify which bacteria were responsible for the infection. The nursing staff immediately got to work carrying out his orders.
When the results for the labs and culture came back, the findings were not altogether unexpected. The blood count indicated that Joey’s white blood cell count had indeed spiked. With regard to the wound culture, the finding was MRSA. Based on these findings, Dr. Franklin ordered IV antibiotics for Joey. Meanwhile, the nursing staff transferred him into a single-occupancy room, and then took the necessary precautions to ensure the bacteria did not spread to other patients. As it were, Joey was officially in “isolation.”
For the hospital staff, “isolation” meant that everything in Joey’s room was considered to be contaminated – including Joey. As such, every time nurses or doctors entered the room, they’d have to don yellow protective robes. They’d also have to wear face masks, gloves, and even hair nets. Upon leaving the room, everything had to be discarded in special trash or laundry receptacles. As an added measure, staff members were required to disinfect their hands with an antibacterial gel.
After several days of treatment, Joey’s overall condition unexpectedly deteriorated. Baffled by the turn of events, Dr. Franklin ordered more labs. One of his primary concerns was that something had been missed during surgery, such as a nicked bowel, and that he’d have to once again “open” Joey up. Dr. Franklin worried that Joey’s body, in its weakened state, would not be able to survive any additional trauma. On the other hand, if he did nothing, Joey could potentially develop septicemia; an infection of the blood which frequently results in death. A decision had to be made.
After consulting with Joey, Dr. Franklin decided to operate.
The operation went off without a hitch, and Joey returned to the Intensive Care Unit, or ICU. Dr. Franklin had, indeed, discovered that Joey’s small intestine had a small cut which had been missed during the first surgery. As a result of this cut, fecal matter was leaking into Joey’s abdominal cavity. After repairing the cut, Dr. Franklin also created a loop colostomy in Joey’s bowel. The intent of this procedure was to divert fecal matter away from the cut in Joey’s intestines, and into an external bag which hung from Joey’s abdomen, a little below his chest. This would allow the intestine time to heal from the stab wound.
Unfortunately, Joey Jones never recovered. For several days, he held on to life with a tenuous grip – but his grip eventually loosened. His last thought before his soul slipped into eternity was simply, “
God have mercy on me
.” A smile creased his face, and then he was gone. The next day, a hospital administrator placed a call to the Prosecuting Attorney.
County/City Building, Stuart Co.
4 September, 9:22 AM
ARTHUR KLIPP, the county’s Prosecuting Attorney, was annoyed. In his hand he held a letter from a prominent member of the County Council. It described some of the budget cuts Arthur’s Department was expected to implement in the coming year. Every year, for the last 3 years, his budget had shrunk. Now, he was being told he’d have to cut back a little more. “
What a joke!
” he thought. “
Does the county expect me to operate on a shoestring?
”
His phone chirped – and chirped – and chirped again. Finally, Arthur responded. He was still annoyed, and this was reflected in his voice when he answered the phone.
“This is Arthur! Can I help you?”
On the other end of the line, a pleasant voice responded; it was Josephine Colson, the hospital liaison. After the usual greetings, she quickly got down to business and informed Arthur of Joey’s death. She didn’t go into details, just the basics. She was calling in response to Arthur’s earlier request that she notify him if there was any significant change in Joey’s medical condition. When the conversation was over, Arthur pressed the “Off” button on his phone.
He let out an audible sigh, and then leaned back in his chair for a moment of reflection.
Great! This is just great! As if I don’t have enough to do already. The media is gonna be all over this one.
Arthur’s feelings about Joey’s death were conflicted. On the one hand, he didn’t really care about Joey Jones. The guy was, after all, just another heroin addict; Arthur had been dealing with him for years. On the other hand, Arthur lamented the fact that his job was making him callous to tragic events, and human suffering.
I gotta get out of this business
, he thought.
It’s making me a grumpy, mean man. Plus – it’s not fair to my wife and kids.
He picked up the phone again and made several calls. The first call was to a public affairs representative who was charged with handling media enquiries. The second call was to Robert Matson, the lead detective responsible for investigating the incident at
Lucky’s. Finally, he called his wife. When she asked him why he’d called, he simply said he wanted to say “hi.”
County/City Building, Stuart Co.
5 September, 8:10 AM
ROBERT MATSON knocked on Arthur’s office door. In his right hand he carried his old, leather briefcase; it was a relic, and no longer in style. As usual, it was stuffed to the max and appeared to be on the verge of bursting at the seams. In his left hand, Robert held a copy of the Morning Tribune. Splashed across the front page was the headline: “ASSAULT VICTIM DIES IN HOSPITAL.” The subtitle was, “Local Boys Could Face Murder Charges.”
“Come in,” Arthur half yelled. Through the window in the door he could see Robert, so he waved for him to enter. When the door opened, Robert lumbered in, and Arthur extended his hand across the desk to greet him.
“How are you doin’, Robert?” Arthur asked.
“Oh, not bad.
Just the usual – keep’n busy.”
“Aren’t we all? Well, have a seat and make yourself comfortable.”
Robert slumped into the oversized chair, and was engulfed by its puffiness. After fidgeting around for a few seconds, he succumbed to the chair’s comfort. Meanwhile, Arthur leaned back in his own chair, and clasped his hands behind his head. Both men exchanged some token “small-talk,” and then got down to business.
“I notice you have the paper with you,” Arthur said, as he pointed towards the newspaper which was scrunched up in a crevice of the puffy chair. “It didn’t take long for the media to swoop in, did it?” Arthur’s voice betrayed a feeling of disgust. He was also in a hurry, and he couldn’t wait for Robert to mumble out an answer to his ques
tion – so he continued speaking.
“Well, as you know, I’ve got to decide whether or not to change the primary indictment against the three suspects. The one guy, Jerry McDonald, is currently facing 1
st
Degree Assault. His charge would be upgraded to 1
st
Degree Murder. The other two individuals, Josh Tyler and Edward Bryant, are both facing 2
nd
Degree Assault. Their charges will likely be upgraded to 2
nd
Degree Murder. What are your thoughts? Do we have enough evidence against these suspects to make the new charges stick?”